


Lestrade's Bad Day

by The_Gay_Infiltrator



Series: 24 Days of Fanfic for Cowgirlchica [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little Angst I guess?, Caring is an advantage, I cried while writing it but that might just be me, Implied Smut, Lestrade gets stuck under his mattress, Lestrade is tired, M/M, Mycroft is a saviour, Mycroft is cliché, Nobody dies I swear, The Diogenes Club, copious amounts of paperwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9179539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Gay_Infiltrator/pseuds/The_Gay_Infiltrator





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cowgirlchica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirlchica/gifts).



Lestrade sighed, banging his head on his desk. It was what they called a bad day. A murderer had escaped again, after he had told Sherlock he would handle this one on his own, Donovan had taken the week off, his wife was sleeping with a physics teacher, and his flat was an absolute mess because of their fight about said physics teacher. Oh, and let's not forget the piles of paperwork he had to fill out before he went home. 

The clock ticked, struck 10, and kept ticking. It struck 11, and kept ticking. The pile of paperwork on one side of Lestrade's desk grew smaller as the one on the other side grew bigger. Half-past 11. Lestrade got up to get some coffee. 12. The pile of papers that needed attention was almost gone now. The DI yawned, leaning back in his chair. He could sleep here, he supposed. He got up to get more coffee so he wouldn't do that. He couldn't, not yet. He still had 30 more forms to fill out and sign. The minutes wore on and on, into the small hours of the morning, namely, 5 past 1. "Finally." He sighed, with no little satisfaction.   
Lestrade decided against driving home, and elected to take a cab home. In the taxi, he let the sharp edges of the real world fade in and out of the blurry haze of sleep that threatened to take over any minute now. He paid the cabbie and stumbled into his flat, nearly tripping over the toes of his shoes once or twice. "Right." He mumbled to no one but himself, as he got into his bedroom and found the mattress heaved off the bed and upended against the wall.   
He struggled with it a little bit, managing to hit his hand against the wall quite hard, but not moving it. He supposed he could just sleep on the mattress on the floor, if he could get it down without hurting himself. In his mind wearied by sleep, something said it was a good idea to try and get the mattress down by pulling on it from underneath, where it would fall, should it decide to. The mattress tipped over onto Lestrade, pinning him under its weight. It was a decidedly heavy mattress, and Lestrade made a mental note to buy a lighter one, even though he most likely wouldn't remember it in the morning. It was att his moment, when he had resigned himself to sleeping under a mattress, that his phone rang. He worked his hand into his coat pocket to get his phone and answer it. If they were calling at this time of night (morning?) it had to be important. "Hello? Who's this?"  
"Ah, Gregory. You're awake." Mycroft Holmes' voice came from the telephone, as crisp and sharp as ever. In fact, his whole voice seemed to convey his personality and appearance, from the clearly enunciated words to the understated, but dramatic flair that crept through sometimes.   
"Mycroft. What is it?"  
"I understand it is early, Gregory, but I was hoping you would meet me at the Diogenes Club in 10 minutes. There is a car outside."  
"Mycroft, wait!" Greg yelled into the microphone.   
"What is it, Gregory?"  
"I...I'm stuck under a mattress." He admitted, "Can you get someone to help?"  
"That can be arranged, yes. I will see you in 10 minutes, Gregory."  
Lestrade sighed as he hung up the phone. He envied Mycroft, how he was always able to sound so professional, even at half past 1 in the morning. He, on the other hand, had hair sticking up at odd angles, courtesy of him running a hand through it in stress as he filled out paperwork, eyes that were dropping shut on their own, and a voice that was laced with sleepy drawl and was slightly hoarse, from not speaking for hours. His tie was at a funny angle, and his collar was probably beyond fixing. Not the best way to go and meet the British Government, but it was early. Part of him hoped that Mycroft would look rumpled room just so he could see him like that. Greg never admitted it to anyone, and he never saw Mycroft in Sherlock's presence, so he couldn't deduce it, but he he liked Mycroft, despite all his flaws. He was sort of glad that the older Holmes had called him, even though it was early. Someone came upstairs and lifted the mattress off of Lestrade. "Thank you." He mumbled, attempting to straighten his rumpled tie and shirt as he walked down the stairs and got into the shiny, black car idling in front of his flat. He fell asleep slightly as the car sped along the road.   
He was awoken some minutes later by one of Mycroft's men, who led him into the Stranger's Room in the Diogenes Club, where Mycroft Holmes was sitting, looking just as unrumpled as his voice suggested. "Ah, Gregory. Please have a seat."  
Mycroft's man left the chamber as Lestrade sat across from the Government. "So, what's this about, then? Something so secret and classified that you can't talk to me during normal daylight hours?"  
Mycroft looked slightly sheepish. "Not exactly. I have been out of the country since 15 minutes ago."  
"So why call me in your first 15 minutes back in England, and why want to see me? Is there something I've done wrong?"  
"No, nothing you've done, Gregory."  
"Then what is it?" Greg asked, confused, but also intrigued.   
There was a silence as Mycroft decided what to say. From the length of the pause, Lestrade guessed it was something he was nervous or cautious about, so probably something very sensitive or secret. "...I wanted to see you." He admitted, finally.   
"You wanted to see me? Why?" Lestrade pressed, curious about this other side of Mycroft he hadn't seen.   
"Would you like a drink, Gregory?" Mycroft asked, trying to change the subject.   
"Thanks." The detective inspector said, accepting the glass of alcohol that was offered to him by Mycroft.   
And if his fingers happened to brush Mycroft's as he took it, and linger for a fleeting second, well, it could be written off as an accident. Mycroft watched as Lestrade took a sip of the liquid, more specifically, watching his lips, and the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed it. He took a drink out of his own glass, working up courage to tell Greg. "Gregory," he began, then stopped as he considered where he was going with this.   
The DI raised an eyebrow, but remained silent, as he waited for Mycroft to continue. "I...as you know, my life is full of danger and unexpected trips. I cannot afford to have connections that could be used as leverage against me."  
Lestrade's heart was sinking as Mycroft spoke these words. "However," he continued, "I can't help what I feel. You have, at risk of sounding cliché, stolen my heart, Gregory." He paused again. "I don't want to put you at risk, which is what you would be if you entered a relationship with me."  
"I don't care. I'm in danger every day already."  
"Not like this. You would have to be on your guard every day and night."  
"I really don't care." The detective inspector pulled his chair up beside Mycroft. "You're worth the risk."  
"Am I?" Mycroft sounded genuinely surprised.   
"Yes." Lestrade confirmed, placing his hand on Mycroft's arm. "You are."  
Mycroft placed his other hand over Greg's. "Thank you, Gregory."  
Lestrade leaned in, staring into Mycroft's eyes. "Can I...can I kiss you?" He asked nervously.   
Mycroft's answer was to lean forward too. Greg's eyes fluttered shut as he began to comprehend what was going on. Mycroft loved him back. He was glad his wife had left again. He gently ran a hand through Mycroft's hair, as Mycroft moved his hands to hold him closer. It was gentle and soft, and better than either of them had ever imagined. Mycroft's hands slid down Greg's back, gripping Lestrade's arse loosely. The detective inspector's hand wandered down Mycroft's cheek, caressing his shoulder gently. He wasn't even aware that they had stopped kissing until he was nearly asleep on Mycroft's shoulder. Mycroft smiled fondly at the tired detective inspector, and picked him up bridal style and carried him out to his personal car.   
Lestrade woke up the next morning, and he would have thought he had dreamed the whole thing if it weren't for the fact that he was no longer wearing his shirt and tie, but a pair of expensive-feeling silk pyjamas, and that Mycroft was putting on his vest beside the bed. "Good morning, Gregory."  
"Morning." Greg replied, still a little bit shocked that he had woken up in Mycroft's bed, presumably wearing his pyjamas.   
And that meant that Mycroft must have put them on him. Lestrade went red, and his dick pricked up at that thought. He got up and wrapped his hands around Mycroft's waist, pressing little butterfly kisses onto his neck. "You always wear so many layers, Mycroft." Greg whispered softly, into the Government's ear.   
"Gregory." Mycroft breathed, tilting his neck.   
"I don't want to make you late, but you're just so bloody gorgeous, Mycroft."  
Mycroft turned to face Greg, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, I suppose I can be a little late."


End file.
